All Chapters of Dumped ,Because His Her Is Back : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

It begins a few weeks after Elena leaves again.Not dramatically just quietly.She leaves the key on the counter this time, not in the lock.And when Liam finds it, something inside him doesn’t shatter.It settles.Because deep down, the break had already happened long before she walked out.He sits alone that evening, staring at the papers on his desk the divorce decree, the one he pushed forward months ago when she came back.The one that ended everything with Amara.He remembers how quickly he’d done it.No hesitation. No pause.Just the blind rush of a man who thought love had finally circled back to him.He’d signed his name with relief.Now, when he looks at it, he sees recklessness disguised as certainty.It hits him:He’d burned the bridge that still had light on it… just to stand in the ruins of a home that was already ash.He thinks of Amara the way she didn’t fight, didn’t plead.She just looked at him that last day and said, “If she’s where your heart still lives, then go

He hadn’t meant to send it.In fact, he didn’t even remember typing it just sitting there at his desk sometime past midnight, whiskey glass half-empty, silence sitting beside him like an old friend that overstayed its welcome.The message “You were right. I didn’t understand what peace meant until I lost it.” had come out like a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.He’d meant to save it in his notes. Something private. Something unfinished.But his hands, heavy and unsteady, must’ve hit “send.”And the universe, unkindly merciful, had sent it to her.To Amara.The realization didn’t come until morning, when he picked up his phone and saw the sent icon sitting there like a confession staring back at him.He froze.For a full minute, his brain refused to process it.Then it did all at once.“Oh, God.”He stared at the screen, pulse racing. The timestamp glared at him: 12:37 a.m.He imagined her seeing it. Reading it. The look on her face.Would she think he wanted her back?Woul

He hadn’t meant to send it.The message wasn’t supposed to go through just a draft, a thought, something he typed at 12:37 a.m. because silence had started to press too hard against his ribs.But when he hit backspace, his thumb slipped.And then it was gone sent.You were right. I didn’t understand what peace meant until I lost it.For a second, he froze, staring at the screen as if he could call the words back through sheer will. But it was too late. The blue tick appeared, then another.Seen.He waited. Ten minutes. Thirty.No reply.The quiet stretched between them, familiar and heavy.He exhaled, long and slow, and leaned back against the couch.The apartment around him was spotless too spotless, the kind of order that only happens when someone’s trying to keep chaos out of their mind. The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the air. Somewhere outside, a stray dog barked at nothing.Liam ran a hand through his hair.He’d thought sending that message might make something shift

The morning came softly.Too softly for a city that usually woke her with car horns and distant chatter. Today, even the world seemed hesitant to intrude.Amara sat on her balcony, mug in hand, eyes tracing the line where the fading clouds met a pale stretch of sunrise. The steam curled upward like a quiet secret. She hadn’t spoken to anyone yet. Not even herself.There was a stillness inside her not peace, not quite, but something close enough to pretend.The last few weeks had been strange, like walking through echoes of her old life. Every once in a while, she would pass a place a café corner, a bookstore window and feel that tug of memory, like an invisible thread trying to pull her backward. But the thread was thinner now, easier to resist.Healing, she’d learned, wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a declaration or a dramatic transformation.It was quiet. It was choosing to wake up, even when the air still smelled like yesterday.She’d been writing again not for work, not for anyone just

For days after sending the book, Amara couldn’t quite explain the peace that followed. It wasn’t dramatic. No tears. No collapsing on the floor in cinematic heartbreak. Just… stillness.Her apartment, once thick with silence, now hummed softly as if the walls themselves had decided to forgive.The mornings felt lighter. The sun found her again through the thin curtains, brushing gold over the plants she’d forgotten to water for weeks. She moved through the rooms like someone re-learning how to exist in her own space folding blankets, sweeping floors, humming to herself in fragments.There were still traces of him everywhere the chipped mug he’d once teased her for keeping, the chair he’d claimed as “his spot,” the faint scent of the cologne that lingered in her favorite scarf. But they no longer stung. They simply… existed.Love had left fingerprints, yes, but not bruises.She’d spent so long waiting for closure to arrive as an explanation an apology, maybe, or a moment that would